


Useful

by JauntyHako



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Light Femdom, Masturbation, Orgasm Denial, Slit has total heart-eyes for Toast, Slit lives!AU, binoculars are a leading cause of sex, facesitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 23:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5109113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JauntyHako/pseuds/JauntyHako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slit gets his arm broken because of circumstances and Toast needs to find some other use for that war boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Useful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redcandle17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcandle17/gifts).



> One serving of consensual Slit/Toast. I hope I could do them some justice :)

Slit knows that all in all his Driver got the better end of the bargain. Not even any particular bargain. It seems these days whatever Nux wants he gets. He sleeps and eats with the Wives and walks among the war boys as an Imperator, even though they are not supposed to call him that. That, at least, is a rule Slit doesn't have to worry about breaking. Ever.

But traitoring the Immortan ended up being the more rewarding decision, while being loyal got Slit stuck where he's been before, as a Lancer. The name Nux is on everyone's lips these days while Slit's is … well, mainly just on his own. And even he recognises that as pathetic.

But there is one thing Slit has that Nux doesn't. A unique possession. War boys don't own things. Clothes, weapons and tools get passed around, are sometimes fought over but belong to Immortan Joe. Or used to belong. These days stuff belongs to the Wives and even Nux only borrows what is, ultimately, theirs even if they'll never touch it. But now Slit _owns_ something, a thing of his very own that he never has to give up or share. It was a blessing and now it isn't anymore, because the other war boys dared to try and take it from him. But this thing, it's Slit's and even if it has brought him nothing but misery he still holds on to it. It's a pair of binoculars and it's the reason he can never be a Lancer again.

 

~Two days earlier~

 

“Gotta skirt around the edges, make the sand hide us!” One of the Knowing's crew shouts at her. Slit squints at the small group of Buzzards and thinks they could take them with ease. Even if there are more. But no, everyone's so damn careful now. The Knowing gives the command and they hide their convoy in the sand gusts, nothing more than fixations to onlookers. They are building up trade routes, for whatever good that will do. Slit said before that he doesn't approve and Nux likes to tease him that he doesn't approve of much at all, Immortan dead or no.

Driving blind through the yellow dust is nothing to be sneered at. It's fun and challenging, for Driver and Lancer both. The former of which needs to keep them on track, the latter of which has to look for enemies and new orders. But the Knowing is quiet and so are the Buzzards and other raiderfolk and they pass through the sands within minutes, break out into great blue sunshine with no other cars in sight. They stop for the Knowing to decide on which route they'll proceed next. Their goal lies across the dunes where they last spotted the Buzzards and there are multiple ways to pass them, some fast and dangerous others long and boring. Slit doesn't need to think much to know which option he'd pick. He's also pretty certain that he knows which one the Knowing will choose. She's slipped out of her rig and jumped across the gap onto Nux' car, right next to Slit who pretends she didn't almost give him a heart attack with her sudden appearance.

“I need a second opinion. Right there, is that a camp you think?” she says and points east to the horizon. Slit squints but can see nothing. Even with his bad eye he's still one of the most perceptive Lancers but she can't expect him to work miracles. Only the Immortan sees all. He turns to tell her that and maybe some other choice words, when she speaks up.

“Probably easier with binoculars.” Only now does he notice the thing she's holding out to him. It looks vaguely familiar as a tool Imperators use. He stares and collects himself quickly enough to snatch it from her hands before she can make up her mind about loaning him something so valuable. Figuring out how to use it isn't hard, which makes Slit think he may do a decent job as an Imperator himself. He wonders if Nux ever held a tool like this as he raises it to his eyes and scans the patch of desert the Knowing told him to. Finding the spot and steadying his hands to give him a decent view provides a challenge Slit overcomes with pride. He lingers on his task longer than he has to, enjoying the privilege he's been granted.

“Raider camp.” He says eventually, still looking through the tool and taking in every detail he can. “Abandoned. Buzzards we saw earlier probably came to scavenge.”  
“You think they drove those raiders off?”  
“Looks too old. They'd be long gone if they did it. Probably found the spot by accident.”

He hears the Knowing sneer.

“Let them fight over scraps then. We'll continue north east.”

That's closer to the Buzzards than Slit expected her to lead them. It's a move so daring he feels like praying to V8 in thanks. Looks like his hope for some action isn't completely in vain. He lowers the tool, relishing it's smooth surface and finds the Knowing has already returned to her rig and given the order to drive on. With a slight jolt Nux starts up and Slit's left holding the Imperator tool, the binoculars.

 

They reach the settlement hours later and things don't go well. They go in easy enough, but the people see cars and know the only people strong enough to get the guzzolene for them are rarely good news. The moment they spot the war boys, bone-white bodies and eyes as black as oil, they're up in arms. The Knowing calms them down somewhat, speaks in the lingo of traders but her dialect is outdated and even though they listen, they don't trust her. The binoculars rest heavy in his pockets and Slit has to resist the urge to cover them with his hands. It won't do any good to alert people he has something valuable on him and if fighting breaks out they'll stay where he put them. Hopefully.

He listens to the Knowing talk, voice soft but urgent and is reminded of some of the better Imperators who never need to shout. Furiosa is one of them, but then again betraying your God isn't really the mark of a good soldier. But she never raised her voice and neither does the Knowing. In fact she lowers it until Slit can no longer make out words and the woman she's talking to has to concentrate fully on her. The war boys watch and wait and grow quickly bored. Never a good thing when surrounded by dozens of people with guns. Slit sees one of the Lancers on the Knowing's rig fiddle with his weapon, hopes that V8 has outfitted him with enough sense not to point it at any of the settlers for laughs. Doesn't dare shout a stern warning to keep from upsetting the already anxious people. They're not supposed to start a fight just yet. They'll get the order sooner or later from the way things are going. But that stupid war boy points his throwing knife at one of the kids on the ground and all hell breaks loose. The Knowing dodges the attack by the woman who screams bloody murder, gives the order to retreat and is back behind the wheel in record time. The settlers throw Valhalla's mead at them but their aim is off and the bottles burst against the cars, the fire never reaching Slit. They're crudely made and most never explode at all, but bounce off their targets, fizzling out uselessly in the sand. Still, one lucky shot is all it takes. They set off, Slit throwing thundersticks to scare off pursuers, aiming closer to the people than strictly necessary. He laughs when he hears their panicked shouts and gets a deathglare from the Knowing. After that he restricts himself to less harmful targets but still makes sure to throw in some tricks she'll see. Nux meanwhile leads the convoy out of the settlement and around the various traps they set up, driving solid even under the few bursts of fire the settlers have bullets for.

The moment they pass the immediate threat, Slit's hand shoots to his pocket, finding the weight of the binoculars comforting in his palm.

 

Slit show the binoculars around before he gives them back. The Knowing obviously doesn't miss the tool she's given him and there is no harm in making sure everyone knows she entrusted something to him. Most of the other war boys pretend not to be impressed, but Slit knows better. They never admit how shine he really is, how chrome his technique as a Lancer, but they think it, Slit can see it in their faces when he walks by. He's long stopped caring about them saying it out loud.

The war pups are more generous in their admiration and they cling to his trousers and stare open-mouthed at the binoculars, begging Slit to tell them every detail of the interaction he shared with the Knowing. The pups adore the wives, even more than they adored the Imperators. He allows one of them, Slit didn't bother to ask the rascal his name, to accompany him up to where the Knowing spends her time, training to fight mostly, very rarely talking to the other Wives. While the others are piled on top of each other all the time, the Knowing stands solitary. Not the smartest move when Slit knows how important backup can be, but on the other hand he isn't sure he could stand the constant touching and cooing the Wives subject each other to.

So when he finds the Knowing lying on her back all by herself lifting handmade weights he isn't surprised. The sight of her muscles moving under the effort, hard lines on her skin, making his skin tingle, however, surprises him very much.

He clears his throat and pulls himself back together, managing to stand up straight when she regards him with a cool glare but refuses to take a break from her routine.

“What … do you want?” she asks, grunting as she pushes the weights up, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Still have the binoculars, Boss.” Slit says, not entirely sure what title to use and falling back to a familiar one. Imperator doesn't sound right for the Wives and probably never will.

“What?” The Knowing interrupts her workout to stare at him incredulously. “Just _keep_ them for Water's sake. And don't bother me.”

He stands dumbly in the doorway and stares but she is already back to her training and so he eventually departs, clutching the binoculars tightly in one hand, heart beating like mad in his chest. _Don't bother me._ Like Slit is nothing but a nuisance, not even worth dealing with when there is a legitimate reason for doing so. The pup who followed him tugs at the hem of his trousers but Slit doesn't feel like entertaining him right now. _Don't bother me._ Who does she think she is? It wouldn't have taken long. He just wanted to give back what is hers, but even that seems to be too long for the Knowing.

_Don't bother me_ , she said. But also _Keep them_. She gave him something. Someone who is a little bit like an Imperator allows him to keep something valuable. That's not nothing. And he's gonna make sure that everyone knows about it.

 

 

Toast is called up to the infirmary because one of her war boys is injured. It's a daily routine, the boys are sick, reckless and violent after all, and usually her presence isn't required, but apparently her name fell which means she's gotta be there.

It's that Lancer, the one with the bad eye who's still the best damn scout she's ever seen. He looks badly hurt, but experience reminds her that it looks worse than it probably is. Except of course for the cast on his throwing arm. Damn. She's happy with the crew she's got and has neither the time nor the will to look for anyone new right now.

“Alright, what happened?”

Cheedo's at her side, always on her feet these days, working herself to the bone for this new Citadel they're trying to build.

“He got into a fight with some of the other boys. I wouldn't have called you but he's afraid you'll kick him off your team because of his broken arm. He won't believe me when I say you wouldn't do that, so I thought it best if I got you and you told him.”

Toast, who fully intended to replace that useless war boy with one who had two functioning arms, finds herself reconsidering. She can't kick him out _now_ , not when Cheedo looks at her with those big pleading eyes of hers. The war boy, too, looks like someone kicked him and left him out in the dust to die and so she throws her hands up and concedes victory.

“Fine, I'll talk to ...”

“Slit.” Cheedo provides helpfully. It says something about her that she knows every war boy's name under Toast's command. Maybe it says something about Toast that she doesn't. She resolves not to think about it and approaches the bed in which Slit sits, apprehensive and curled protectively around his banged up arm.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” is the first thing she says and if Cheedo hoped for her to be more emphatic she is sorely mistaken. She won't kick him out of the team, but she will make sure something like that doesn't happen again. Slit shrinks under her sharp words. He must know he's fucked up, or else he'd give her lip. “You're a Lancer on my bloody crew. Your ass belongs to me. Your _arm_ belongs to me, because I need you to throw thundersticks with it. And now you went and got it damaged. What excuse do you have?”  
“Defended myself, boss.”  
Toast hits him. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoes through the room. His head flies to the side, eyes wide in shock, cheek reddening. He looks up at her, his good hand touching his cheek as if he can't believe what just happened.

“You're full of crap, war boy. If you lie to me again, you'll get nothing but piss to drink. Now, again. What happened?”

Cheedo scowls at her from across the room but Toast knows at least this, that war boys react well to violence. She doesn't plan on cuddling up with every single one of her crew like Capable is doing with Nux, so she needs another angle. Anyway, it isn't like anything she does is worse than what they already did to themselves.

“Some smegs wanted to steal my binoculars.” he says and the way he pronounces 'my', proud and weirdly delicate, makes some things clearer. She lets him talk, arms crossed and her disapproval clear. “Had to teach 'em a lesson. There were fiv- fifteen of 'em, one of 'em got in a lucky hit. You told me to keep 'em.”

Validation is the last thing she wants to give him and she isn't gullible either. But even holding his own against five war boys and getting away alive and largely unharmed is impressive. She makes sure to scowl a little more at him.

“I sure as hell didn't tell you to fuck up your arm.”

“I can still be useful!” Slit says, urgent and just a little bit desperate. He scoots forward in the bed, closer to Toast who doesn't move. “I can scout or, or repair stuff.” His eyes dart around the room, looking for something else that makes him of use. His eyes light up. “I can do things for you.”

“Like what?” Toast asks, curious against her will.

“Anything. Shine your boots, take care of your guns. I'll do anything, just don't kick me off the crew.”

War boys don't say please, but it's written in this boy's face with permanent ink. He looks as eager as Nux, if less … baby faced. Toast doesn't mind. In fact, she can think of a few uses for that war boy while his arm recovers.

 

She has him pleasure himself in the rig on their next trip out. He's overjoyed to be allowed with and when she tells him with a curt nod to get in the passenger's seat he all but bounces. They'll do some scouting, figuring out how the lands out of Joe's influence have developed in the meantime. It means long and boring hours of driving through nothing, with the occasional bits of something that turn out, inevitably, to be nothing after all. It's the most dull a job out in the wasteland can get. Unless, of course, one has an eager war boy with them.

“Slow down. You're not allowed to cum yet.”

Slit whines and bucks his hips, cock grasped firmly in his hand but he follows the order and slows his strokes to an agonising level. Sweat stands on his forehead and his eyes are clenched shut for the most part when he doesn't look to her for guidance. Toast hasn't given much. She wants to see how he approaches sexual things. If he's too rough or inexperienced she won't risk putting her cunt anywhere near him. This, however, looks promising.

He's fucking into his fist, the tip of his cock glistening with precum and bites his lips to keep from moaning. He's been at it for the last two hours and his need for release grows increasingly urgent. Another thing she needs to make sure of before she does anything more, is that he will follow her orders even when desperate.

“Let me … Boss, let me cum.”

Toast acts as if she's considering it, eyes gliding over his stomach and legs, watching his whole body straining with the effort not to spill his load right then and there. The sight spreads warmth between her legs.

“No.”  
He damn near howls then, head thrown back, panting but still stroking himself just like she told him to. He keeps at it even though it must hurt by now, being hard for so long. Toast redirects her attention to the road, only throwing the odd glance to her right to watch the war boy writhing in his seat.

“Good boy.” she says off-handedly after another few minutes in which he's started to whimper with every shaky exhale. He looks at her with bright, glassy eyes, close to tears but holding them back. The praise relaxes him somewhat, she can see the hold on his cock softening the tiniest bit.

“Alright.” she says. “Cum.”

He sobs with relief and speeds up. He strokes his cock almost violently as he arches his back in a gorgeous line and cums, catching his load in his hand. Not only obedient but clean, too. Toast is impressed. She wonders, however, how far she can push him, especially after he's gotten what he wanted. After allowing him to take a few breaths to collect himself, sitting slumped and deeply sated, she orders him to clean his hand up.

“No.”, she says when he makes to wipe it off on his trousers. “Lick it clean.”

He doesn't like that order one bit. His hand still in the air he glowers at her, words of defiance already on his lips, Toast can see them even unspoken. It's a fairly crass order, making him lick up his own jizz. But that's the purpose of this exercise and Toast has an idea or two on how to get him to do it.

“Go on, be a good boy. Look at the boys outside, how they're watching you. Put on a show for them.”

They are watching him. While Nux drives up front with a new temporary Lancer, another part of her convoy has remained close to her ever since they figured out Slit is fucking himself on Toast's orders. Right now the two Lancers in the back are one good excuse away from dry-humping each other. Slit glares at them but his pride won't allow him to refuse a direct order when others are watching. Grudgingly he brings up his fingers against his lips. His tongue darts out, catching some small droplets of cum. He scoops up more, still reluctant. But when Toast laughs at his disgusted expression he puts in more vigour, doing a good job of pretending he likes it. All the while he looks at her through his eyelashes, looks for any kind of approval. He must see something in her face, because he redoubles his efforts, licks and sucks at his fingers, drags his tongue over his palm and even makes little obscene noises towards the end of it. In Toast's mind Slit's tongue is somewhere else entirely. It makes her cunt tingle in anticipation.

 

If she asked him right away, Slit would be ready for another round, or at least pretend to be. She could probably make the boy cum several times in a row and he'd suffer through the overstimulation if it just means getting more attention. All war boys are like that and even though Slit is an extreme case, Toast knows how to work this part of him just so. She waits for night to break before they make camp, and she can spend a little more time with Slit.

“What the hell are you doing? Every idiot could find my clit. Get to it, before I let Nux do what you evidently can't.”

Some of the war boys who overhear them laugh and Slit speaks his muffled but desperate protest. They aren't watching, except for the two Lancers who got their rocks off earlier today as well, but they don't pretend not to notice anything either. For them sex isn't anything to be shy or too excited about and Toast feels much safer doing this surrounded by people who are unquestionably loyal to her. In truth Slit's been fairly good so far, flat on his back with Toast kneeling over him, his face between her legs. While there is no experience for him to draw from, he makes up some of it with his enthusiasm. He parts her folds with his tongue, drags his teeth gently over them and moans at the taste of her. The vibrations make Toast shudder and she rocks against him, one hand cradling his head. He tries to breathe in and can't, smothered between her thighs. Even when cut off from air he never stops licking her cunt and it's starting to drive her insane. She lets him flail for a tiny bit longer before drawing back, looking down on his face, his red lips, wet with her juices. There's no challenge in his eyes, just blind adoration and desire to please.

“You're enjoying this.” she says, only minimally surprised. Without giving him time to answer she pushes him forward again, sighing when his tongue dips into her cunt again, trembling when he makes similar sounds of pleasure.

“Higher.” she orders breathlessly and keens when he circles her clit. She's been on edge ever since he fucked himself in her car seat earlier and it won't take much to get her off now. He sucks hard, bites the skin around her clit, not enough to hurt but giving just a little edge.

“That's it. Fuck me with your tongue.”

Slit does as he's told. Toast ruts against his face, thighs clenching, pushing down and forward. It's good, so damn good and her war boy doesn't slow down for a second. She grinds down harder, no longer caring if he can't breathe, doesn't mind when his hands fly up against her thighs, grasping them but still showing no sign of wanting her to stop. His fingers dig into her flesh. As she rides out her orgasm, reducing her noises to deep breathing while he whines against her cunt, she thinks that maybe Capable had the right idea with that war boy of hers.

 

 


End file.
